


Sherlock: Platinum On Cobalt

by IBegToDreamAndDiffer



Series: Sherlock: Colours [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friendship, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-02
Updated: 2012-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-30 12:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBegToDreamAndDiffer/pseuds/IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes has finally decided to propose to John Watson. Now he just has to figure out how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock: Platinum On Cobalt

**Author's Note:**

> Ownership: Original characters are owned by Arthur Conan Doyle, these versions are owned by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. I just get to play.
> 
> Beta: Squarerootofrsquared

_John grinned and squeezed Sherlock tightly. Their lips pressed together and the couple exchanged soft, slow kisses, neither caring how long they were there. All that mattered was each other; their lips and tongues and bodies and just_ them _._

_Sherlock’s tongue swept across John’s and the doctor shivered, moaning and pressing himself against Sherlock even more, trying to meld their bodies together._

_When they finally broke apart for air Sherlock rested his cheek against John’s head, stroking his nimble fingers up and down John’s chest._

_‘Merry Christmas, John.’_

_‘Merry Christmas, Sherlock.’_

 

-o-

 

Never in his entire life had Sherlock Holmes thought of marriage as something he would consider. He’d always seen the entire thing as an archaic ritual with vows that meant nothing and money wasted on a giant party that would most likely end in disaster months down the line when one or both people involved were found having sex in an office with their assistant.

But as the months went by and he fell more and more in love with John Watson, Sherlock began to think that maybe, just maybe, marriage _was_ for him.

It was the small, seemingly insignificant moments that led Sherlock to the thought. Waking up with John happened rarely; when Sherlock worked a case he didn’t go to sleep and when John worked late he’d sometimes pass out on the couch with a mug of tea.

But when they shared a bed, even just to sleep, waking up next to John was one of the best things in the world. John would smile and kiss Sherlock lightly, either saying, ‘love you,’ or, ‘breakfast?’ or the common, ‘I got ten minutes, join me in the shower?’

One day, after the slow kisses and the, ‘love you,’ John whispered, Sherlock stared after his boyfriend’s retreating back and thought, _I could really marry this man._ He blinked and pushed the thought away, sure he was just tired or hungry. Because Sherlock Holmes did _not_ think about marriage... much.

Meals together were always fantastic; breakfast where John would make tea and Sherlock would joke about his love-affair with the liquid. Toast would be shared, eggs or bacon thrown from one side of the room to the other when someone (usually Sherlock) said something snarky and forced someone else (usually John) to retaliate with an arsenal of breakfast foods.

Rare lunches at the surgery, when John was working hard, were always fun; one or both of them would end up with no pants, bent over John’s desk by the end of the hour.

John kept mentioning that he wanted to go on a picnic; he’d loved picnics as a child. But the weather was always foul when both were free and Sherlock made a mental note to buy a picnic basket and take his boyfriend out.

Dinner was Sherlock’s favourite meal. Though he’d never enjoyed food, with John it was... nice. Spaghetti was Sherlock’s new favourite food and the two spent many hours licking sauce from each other’s lips and sharing noodles and wine.

One night, about fourteen months into their relationship, John cleared away the plates (because Sherlock _insisted_ he was busy and, though John complained, he really didn’t mind) and Sherlock studied him; admiring the curve of John’s neck as he bent over the sink, watched his shoulders tense as he let hot water run over the plates, drooling over that perfect arse annoyingly covered with jeans.

Sherlock watched the man who had become everything to him and thought, _I should tell the world that he’s mine, forever and always_. Sherlock let the thought ruminate in his mind a little before shutting it away when John turned and smiled at him.

Late nights on the couch were, by far, Sherlock’s most favourite thing (yes, even when it didn’t lead to sex, Sherlock still liked it). John would put on a DVD or flip through the channels while Sherlock cuddled into him, muttering about stupid plots and weird costumes. Usually Sherlock would read when John watched Doctor Who. It was John’s favourite show and he would _not_ let Sherlock ruin it.

Though both their minds were occupied, John would still run his fingers through Sherlock’s hair while the consulting detective rested his head on John’s stomach, occasionally nuzzling into the fabric of his jumper while flicking through pages of a book or case file.

One night, while the Doctor was running from some stupid alien with his companions screaming bloody murder, Sherlock put down his cold case and glanced up at John. His boyfriend was smiling at the show, clearly enjoying it, and had his feet up on the coffee table. He was trailing his fingers through Sherlock’s curls, rubbing at spots that had Sherlock humming in enjoyment.

John was just there, enjoying time with his boyfriend, with Sherlock. Most people didn’t enjoy spending time with Sherlock (in Sherlock’s mind Mycroft didn’t count because he was _so_ annoying... Greg didn’t either because he was sleeping with Mycroft). Sherlock had someone, someone who truly loved him and enjoyed just sitting on the couch with him... Sherlock considered himself the luckiest man in the world.

 _He has nice fingers_ , Sherlock thought. _I wonder if John would wear my ring, a ring that says he’s married to me_. For the first time in his life, Sherlock didn’t push away the thoughts. He let them run through his mind, even after he went to bed.

The sex was... Sherlock was very vocal about his and John’s sex life, both during and after. Greg didn’t enjoy Sherlock being vocal after because usually it was at a crime scene or during dinner. John didn’t like it either... neither did Mycroft, or Mrs Hudson, or the dozen or so police officers who were always within earshot. That’s not to mention the other dinner guests, Mummy, and taxi drivers. Though there _was_ one who asked for details... John nearly killed the guy.

Sherlock couldn’t help himself. He loved telling people that John was a fireball in bed, that the doctor knew how to keep him screaming for more. John knew how to make Sherlock come in two minutes and how to keep an orgasm at bay for an hour.

Sherlock had never really enjoyed sex before John. Yes, his animal needs had been met, but there had been no cuddling like there was with John. There were no declarations of love or soft kisses, but there were with John. With John, sex was so much better. It was hot and hard and heavy and amazing and lovely and... Sherlock liked everything about itl with John it wasn’t just sex, it was... Sherlock felt like a teenage girl just thinking about it, but Sherlock and John didn’t have sex, they made _love_.

One night, soon after the Doctor Who and wedding ring thoughts, Sherlock and John were lying together in bed after a particularly soft and loving round of sex. John had met every single one of Sherlock’s needs, making it one of _the_ best sexual experiences of Sherlock’s life.

They laid in their bed holding each other, Sherlock stroking John’s arse (it really was his favourite part of the doctor), John scratching his fingers through Sherlock’s curls because he knew it’d put Sherlock to sleep. John mumbled something under his breath as he began to fall asleep and Sherlock turned.

‘John?’

‘Love you, is all,’ John said softly.

Sherlock smiled, kissing him before John fell asleep. Sherlock drew the blankets up and shuffled under, drawing an arm around his boyfriend. John rolled over in his sleep, back pressed to Sherlock and arms curling to his chest.

John was beautiful when he slept; he was so peaceful, so happy, that Sherlock couldn’t help but spend a good two or three hours just watching him.

 _John is beautiful_ , Sherlock thought sleepily as he held the doctor close. _I should marry him_.

He blinked and looked down at John again.

 _I want to marry him_.

And that, it seemed, was that. Because once Sherlock Holmes made up his mind he didn’t change it.

He was going to marry John Watson.

 

-oOo-

 

Sherlock didn’t know much about marriage and if he ever had he’d deleted it. He cursed himself as he surfed the internet, using his own laptop because he didn’t want John finding the websites he’d been visiting. Sherlock could always clear the browser history, of course, but still; he didn’t want John knowing. He wanted it to be a surprise.

The internet was proving to be unhelpful. There were a lot of websites dedicated to planning a wedding, to proposing and all of that, but it all made Sherlock’s head hurt. For some reason his mind couldn’t process what it was reading.

Was Sherlock supposed to buy a ring? John wasn’t a woman, a diamond ring wouldn’t work. Was he supposed to get down on one knee? How romantic did he make it? If it was too romantic John would grow suspicious. He probably wouldn’t suspect marriage but he’d suspect _something_.

Finally Sherlock threw down his laptop in frustration (after deleting all evidence that he’d been researching weddings) and glared at the wall. He was in his dressing gown and flipped the belt about, trying to think of how he was going to propose.

His phone rang and Sherlock ignored it. It was Mycroft’s ringtone and Sherlock did _not_ want to talk to his brother.

He paused suddenly, staring at the iPhone. Maybe... maybe Mycroft could help. Though the thought of asking his brother for anything was sickening, Sherlock didn’t want to screw this up; he wanted to propose right. Mycroft understood human emotions and rituals better than Sherlock; he didn’t need to delete anything, his mind was big enough to store trillions and trillions of facts. And then there was Greg. He was normal, he was gay... he could help.

Chewing on his lip, Sherlock picked up his phone and texted both Mycroft and Greg.

 

_Lestrade’s office, half-an-hour. Important. Please._

_SH_

 

The responses came while Sherlock was getting dressed. He slid his phone open and stared down at them as he grabbed his keys.

 

_Of course, brother._

_M_

 

**Ooh, this’ll be good. You actually said please.**

**Greg**

 

Sherlock snorted and stepped from 221B, deleting the messages quickly. He couldn’t have John accidently finding them, now could he?

 

-oOo-

 

Mycroft was already at Scotland Yard, seated before his boyfriend with his legs crossed. He immediately turned to look at Sherlock as his brother entered the office. Mycroft’s eyes were narrowed, concern obvious on his face. It took him three seconds to realise that Sherlock wasn’t high, in pain, or in any immediate danger. He relaxed and turned so he could face both Sherlock and Greg.

‘So, what’s this about?’ Greg asked, sipping from his coffee. ‘Myc and I were gonna have lunch but you sounded desperate so...’ he trailed off and leaned back to look at the younger Holmes.

Sherlock wasn’t sure how to ask for their help and fidgeted with his scarf, winding the blue fabric around his hands. Mycroft tilted his head.

‘Brother, what’s wrong?’

He could tell Sherlock was nervous about something and wondered what could be so upsetting that Sherlock would ask him and Greg for a meeting.

‘Well...’ Sherlock said slowly, causing both Mycroft and Greg to raise their eyebrows. Since when did Sherlock Holmes open his mouth without knowing what to say? ‘This may come as a shock but... I love John.’

Greg snorted.

‘Yes, we are aware of that,’ Mycroft said with a smile.

‘All the comments on how big John is and how he has magic fingers makes us pretty certain that you love him,’ Greg added.

Sherlock’s cheeks darkened and Greg smiled, trying very hard not to tease. Sherlock _did_ seem worried and he wasn’t about to make the sociopath clamp up, not if he had a real problem.

‘Sherlock, what is it?’ Mycroft asked. ‘You know you can tell us anything.’

‘We’re all family here,’ Greg said.

Sherlock took a breath and made his hands still. ‘I’m going to... propose to John.’

Greg had been in the process of taking a drink and spat coffee across his desk, narrowly avoiding his boyfriend and friend. ‘ _What_?’ he gaped.

Mycroft pulled tissues from his pocket and handed them across the desk as he said, ‘I was wondering when you would get around to asking for Gregory’s advice.’

‘Not just Lestrade’s,’ Sherlock said and squirmed in his seat. ‘Yours too.’

Mycroft raised a perfect eyebrow as Greg wiped at his desk. ‘You’re asking for _my_ help?’

Sherlock sighed. ‘Brother, I don’t like asking for your help or receiving it but I’m willing to make an exception for this. John is the most important person to me in the world and I don’t want to mess this moment up. You spend most of your life designing plans for heads of countries, sometimes at a minute’s notice. I’m sure you can offer me a little advice on proposing to my boyfriend.’

He had refused to look at Mycroft once during his speech and continued to stare at the wall. He was aware of Mycroft smiling and Greg rubbing at a coffee stain on his shirt.

‘I’m honoured, Sherlock, really,’ Mycroft said, ‘but perhaps we should ask Gregory first. He is, for lack of a better word, normal. Plus he has had more experience dating.’

‘No one’s ever asked me to marry them,’ Greg said as he pushed the sopping tissues into the bin by his desk.

‘You just haven’t met the right person yet,’ Mycroft said and Greg grinned at him. Sherlock snorted; it was only a matter of time before his brother proposed to the DI.

‘I came here for advice, not to witness your flirting.’

‘Can you blame us?’ Greg said, turning his attention back to Sherlock. ‘Sherlock Holmes asking _me_ for advice; I’m trying to remember how to breathe.’

Sherlock scowled. ‘Not that I don’t love your charming personality, Lestrade, but please?’

‘Please?’ Greg giggled. ‘God, I’ve died and gone to heaven.’

‘This is your idea of heaven?’ Mycroft asked, eyes sliding across his boyfriend’s chest. ‘In mine you’re a little less clothed.’

Greg turned red and Sherlock scowled. ‘Mycroft!’

‘I apologise,’ Mycroft said and looked at his brother. ‘What, exactly, do you want advice on? Can’t you just get down on one knee and pull out a ring?’

‘Am I supposed to get a ring?’ Sherlock asked. ‘I’m not sure how it works with two men.’

‘You don’t have to,’ Greg said, ‘but it’d make the whole thing more romantic.’

‘Okay,’ Sherlock nodded and mentally added a ring to his list of items to purchase.

‘Um, romantic dinner, that’s a given,’ Greg said and began checking things off his hand. ‘Make sure John’s not in a bad mood; it’ll ruin it. Erm... favourite food, maybe some flowers and music, that sort of stuff.’

‘Where are you going to propose?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Angelo’s,’ Sherlock said and Mycroft tutted. ‘What?’

‘You always go to that restaurant,’ Mycroft said.

‘It has to be more special, Sherlock,’ Greg added. ‘Maybe where you had your first date or first kiss.’

‘Our first date and kiss was in our kitchen.’

‘Hmm, yes, not very romantic,’ Mycroft said. ‘Perhaps you could go back to the restaurant where you had your second date and surprise John with dinner there?’

‘No, that’s not romantic enough,’ Greg shook his head. ‘You want this to be a surprise, right?’ he asked Sherlock, who nodded. ‘Right, erm... somewhere romantic and surprising...’

‘Where would _you_ want to be asked?’ Sherlock said.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock saw Mycroft’s eyes immediately lock onto Greg as the DI blushed. No doubt Mycroft would be storing the following words in his mind.

‘The place doesn’t really matter; it’s the story behind the place. Like I said, where you had your first date or where you first met–’

Sherlock stopped listening there because suddenly the perfect place entered his head.

‘Sherlock?’ Mycroft said, interrupting his thoughts.

‘I have the place.’

‘Care to share?’ Greg asked.

‘No.’ Greg chuckled as Sherlock stood. ‘I have everything sorted now,’ Sherlock said and wound his scarf back around his neck. ‘Mycroft, I will need your help securing the room for the night.’

‘Of course,’ Mycroft nodded. ‘Text me with the details.’

Sherlock hesitated before leaving. ‘I... thank you, both of you.’

Mycroft smiled and Greg said, ‘No worries.’ He grinned at Mycroft as Sherlock exited the office. ‘So, your heaven is me naked?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft nodded.

Greg stood. ‘My shirt is a little wet, don’t you think?’

Mycroft chuckled as Greg rounded the table and went to the door. ‘Yes, perhaps we should get you out of it immediately. I wouldn’t want you getting a cold.’

Greg grinned and locked the door with a click.

 

-oOo-

 

It took Sherlock a week to find the perfect ring and find a spot in the flat to hide it. John regularly checked for drugs and razor blades. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Sherlock but the man _was_ an addict, an ex-junkie; it was better to be safe than sorry.

Sherlock could only purchase everything while John was at work. He didn’t want the doctor noticing anything out of the ordinary. Sherlock thought for sure he was going to blow it at some point and John was going to figure it out.

Amazingly, it was Mrs Hudson who almost ruined everything when she found the ring in her coffee container. Mrs Hudson never drank coffee but one morning she climbed the stairs to 221B with the box and asked, ‘Sherlock, is this yours?’

Sherlock was sitting on the couch and jumped to his feet. Thankfully John was in the kitchen and Sherlock managed to snatch the box from Mrs Hudson.

‘I’m proposing to John, don’t ruin it!’ he hissed.

Mrs Hudson threw her arms around him. ‘Oh, Sherlock, I’m so happy,’ she gushed.

‘What’s going on?’ John asked, coming to the door.

Mrs Hudson took the box quickly and slipped it down her shirt. ‘Nothing, dear,’ she smiled broadly at John. ‘I was just asking Sherlock if he left a mobile in my flat but it’s not his.’

Sherlock marvelled at the woman’s ability to lie so convincingly as John smiled and went back in.

‘I know you’ll make him happy,’ Mrs Hudson whispered and kissed Sherlock on the cheek. ‘I’ll hide the ring, just come get it whenever you want.’ Sherlock couldn’t help but smile as she went back downstairs.

 

-oOo-

 

_Safe?_

_M_

 

Sherlock smirked at the message and texted back quickly.

 

**You are an idiot.**

**S**

 

He flipped the phone around as he watched John, who was watching Doctor Who. He kept the phone screen covered when Mycroft texted back, even though John would never read his texts; the man respected Sherlock’s privacy too much to do that... or he was too busy ogling David Tennant and John Barrowman.

 

_You are the one who wanted to keep this all hush-hush, brother._

_M_

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he texted.

 

**News?**

**S**

 

John glanced at him and Sherlock said, ‘Just Mycroft being annoying.’

‘’Course,’ John smiled and went back to stroking Sherlock’s hair.

 

_You are as lovely as ever. Everything is ready. I have made sure the room is available for the next month; I can have everything taken out within a five hour window of notice. When were you planning it?_

_M_

 

Sherlock mentally went through John’s schedule. He was working all this week and next with only next Friday off. Sherlock didn’t want to propose on that Friday in case John had had a bad Thursday at work. He jumped when he realised next Saturday was their fifteen month anniversary.

‘You okay?’ John asked.

‘Yes,’ Sherlock said, smiling as he texted his brother back.

 

**Next Saturday.**

**S**

 

Mycroft’s text was swift and made Sherlock smile.

 

_Your anniversary? How very romantic, Sherlock. I will ensure John doesn’t get a call from work and I will make sure Gregory doesn’t call you for a case Saturday or Sunday. Everything will be ready when you get there. Time?_

_M_

 

Sherlock smiled. Having a brother who practically _was_ the British government came in handy sometimes.

 

**Seven pm.**

**S**

 

Sherlock felt his heart beat quickly as John stood to get a drink, giving Sherlock a quick kiss before going. He watched the doctor pull out a beer and pop the cap, sipping and coming back. He couldn’t believe he was about to ask John to marry him...it was nerve-rattling and exiting all at once.

Sherlock’s phone buzzed again.

 

_Consider it done, brother. Congratulations._

_M_

 

Sherlock quickly deleted the conversation and turned to bury his face in John’s stomach.

‘Mycroft being _really_ annoying?’ John asked.

‘No,’ Sherlock said softly, gripping his phone. ‘My brother is... sometimes he can be quite good.’

John raised an eyebrow. ‘Okay.’

Sherlock smiled and closed his eyes.

 

-oOo-

 

Six o’clock Saturday, Sherlock put on one of his purple silk shirts and the jet-black suit John had said he liked. He asked that John dress in his black and red stripy jumper with a black coat and tight jeans; Sherlock loved those tight jeans.

They exited the taxi at St Bartholomew’s Hospital and John looked up at the large building.

‘I thought we were going out.’

‘We are,’ Sherlock said and took his boyfriend’s hand. ‘I just need to see something.’

John sighed as he allowed himself to be steered into the hospital. ‘You and your bloody corpses.’

Sherlock didn’t have the energy to smile. His heart was beating quickly, his palms sweaty, as he led John through the corridors. He was very aware of the ring box in his jacket and felt like John could somehow see it. He wanted this to be a surprise; he wanted John to be absolutely gobsmacked when Sherlock got down on one knee.

John began to frown when he realised they were heading upstairs, not down towards the morgue.

‘Sherlock?’

‘Just bear with me for a minute.’

‘Er, okay,’ John said.

Sherlock turned right down another corridor and stopped suddenly, letting go of John’s hand. He managed a very small smile before he produced a key (courtesy of Mycroft Holmes).

‘Sherlock?’ John questioned again as his boyfriend unlocked the door.

‘After you,’ Sherlock said.

Still confused, John stepped into the dark room and Sherlock flicked the lights on.

‘Oh, Sherlock,’ John smiled. All the lab equipment (including fridges and experiments) had been removed. There were tables all around the room, all covered in heavy dark blue cloths. The walls too had been hung with heavy navy drapes, adding a soft, warm atmosphere that was heightened by the flickering blue candles. In the middle of the room was a large dark blue blanket set with plates, cups and a picnic basket.

Sometimes Mycroft Holmes was very, very good.

‘You said you used to love going on picnics,’ Sherlock said and shifted from foot to foot. ‘I thought you might like–’ He was cut off when John pressed their lips together.

‘It’s perfect, Sherlock, really.’

Sherlock grinned and led his boyfriend to the blanket. He sat John down before pulling an iPod and docking station from behind the basket. He scrolled through to a special playlist and pressed play. John smiled.

‘My favourite music?’

‘Yes,’ Sherlock said and opened the basket. He drew out a bouquet of sunflowers, knowing they were John’s favourite.

‘God, I’ve got the perfect boyfriend,’ John said and kissed Sherlock quickly. Sherlock grinned.

 

-oOo-

 

They spent close to three or four hours giggling, kissing, touching and feeding each other. Sherlock had brought all of John’s favourite foods, including their signature dish. They ate spaghetti from containers and had fun licking sauce from each other’s lips and fingers.

Sherlock raised his glass of wine and said, ‘Happy anniversary, John.’

John grinned and clinked their glasses together. ‘Happy anniversary, Sherlock.’ After sipping his wine, he said, ‘You really didn’t have to do this. Fifteen months isn’t really a special anniversary.’

‘Every month we’re together is special, John,’ Sherlock said. ‘Every week, day, hour, every _second_ I’m with you is better than the last. I can’t express just how much I love you; how much you’ve changed my life completely. But I think this might.’

He stood suddenly and dragged John up, the doctor barely getting his glass on the floor before Sherlock was holding his hands.

‘Sherlock?’ he questioned as the consulting detective bent down to pause the music. John looked up into his partner’s suddenly serious eyes, feeling slightly worried. What was going on? Why did Sherlock seem so... nervous and worried?

‘John, I love you more than words can possibly say. When I first met you, you seemed so ordinary I almost didn’t bother.’ John chuckled. ‘But later you proved to me how astounding you were, how absolutely spectacular you _are_. I fell in love with you immediately, I just didn’t realise it.’

‘I can’t believe it took me so long to figure out that I loved you... to know that you felt the same way... I still can’t quite believe that you love me, John.’

‘I do,’ John said, kissing him softly.

Sherlock scowled but his eyes were still filled with love. ‘John, you’re interrupting me.’

‘Sorry,’ John smiled. ‘Continue.’

‘Where was I?’

‘You love me.’

‘John–’

‘Sorry, sorry.’

‘Now see, I even love when you interrupt me.’ John smiled but kept his mouth shut. ‘I love everything about you, John Watson, and you have made my life so much better. I will, forever and always, be _your_ Sherlock as long as you want me. And I hope that you’ll always be my John.’

John opened his mouth to say that, yes, he would definitely by Sherlock’s for as long as he lived. But Sherlock had already berated him for interrupting so he closed his mouth again.

‘This is where we first met, John,’ Sherlock said and the doctor looked around.

Oh, it was; it was the lab where John had first set eyes on Sherlock Holmes. He never imagined that two years later he’d be head over heels in love with the man. It made John smile and he looked back at Sherlock.

Sherlock bit his lip before saying, ‘This is where I first set eyes on you. I never imagined that one day we’d be back here as a couple. I thought it would be romantic and the perfect place to do this...’

He trailed off and John’s mouth fell open as Sherlock dropped to one knee and put a hand into his jacket.

‘Sh-Sherlock?’ John stuttered, forgetting that he wasn’t supposed to talk.

Sherlock smiled and finally pulled out what he was looking for. It was a cobalt blue ring box and it sat in Sherlock’s hand as the consulting detective’s blue eyes looked up at John.

‘John Watson... _my_ John,’ Sherlock said and smiled when John’s mouth fell open even more. ‘Will you make me even happier than I already am and marry me? Will you be my husband and promise to forever and always be my John? Will you, please, wear my ring and proclaim to the world that you’re my husband?’

That was a lot of questions that all asked one thing; would John Watson marry Sherlock Holmes?

John felt tears threaten to break free when Sherlock popped open the box to reveal a gorgeous platinum silver ring. It was a simple, plain band but John could see something engraved on the inside.

‘John? Will you marry me?’ Sherlock asked again.

‘Yes!’ John shouted when he realised he’d been quiet too long. ‘Oh God, yes! Sherlock, of course I’ll bloody marry you!’

Sherlock grinned and took the ring from the box. He reached for John’s left hand and slipped the ring on; perfect fit.

Sherlock stood and John threw his arms around his boyfriend– no, _fiancé_ – and dragged him in for a kiss.

‘Sherlock, I love you so much,’ John whispered when they finally broke apart. ‘Of course I’ll marry you.’

‘You’ve already said that,’ Sherlock chuckled.

John grinned and pressed his face into Sherlock’s chest. ‘I know but I wanted to say it again. I love you, Sherlock.’

‘I love you too,’ Sherlock whispered.

-oOo-

 

Much, much later, when John could untangle himself from Sherlock long enough, the doctor pulled the ring off to look at the inside. Engraved into the silver were a few simple words that had John grinning and flinging himself at Sherlock again:

 

_Yours Forever and Always_

 

****

* * *


End file.
